Trilliums in Earl Bales Park

One of the last remaining trilliums (Trillium grandiflorum) in bloom in Earl Bales Park Friday, April 30, 2010. © BCP 2010

Trilliums in Toronto? I had no idea!

I had never been to Earl Bales Park (on Bathurst St., north of Wilson Ave.) until last weekend. (So many wonderful parks to explore, so little time.)

But a short walk through part of the Earl Bales forest brought an unexpected delight — the sight of a few trilliums glowing white amongst the leaf litter of the forest floor. I was unable to take a picture of them, though, because earlier in the day my point-and-shoot camera had just stopped dead in mid-shot. (Aargh Canon. You’re going to get a letter from me!)

I made a promise to myself that despite the hectic schedule I knew was coming during the work week, I WOULD get back to the park with a working camera, in search of some trilliums to shoot.

It took until the very last day of April, Friday, to find a couple of hours of time to make the not-inconsiderable trek from the Beach back up to Earl Bales in traffic that seems to get more knotted and snarled every day.

When I got to the park yesterday, I was surprised to find that the forest floor was bare of trilliums. Not a single Trillium grandiflorum to be found. I know that spring flowers are sometimes called spring ephemerals, bit this seems a bit too ephemeral. All the trilliums were gone. I was just too late. I would have to wait another year to look for trilliums in Toronto. I chalked up the loss as just one of those things.

I decided to explore a bit in the forest, anyway, to see what else I could find, and wandered up and down some steep, relatively unused paths on the cliff overlooking a branch of the West Don. I kept my eyes peeled, but found no sign of the flower I was hunting.

But time was short, and I had many obligations looming, so I began picking my way through the paths, back through the forest cliffs to the park’s table land, back to my car in the parking lot. Just before I came out to the main path, I saw a bit of white shining from the ground. Hoping it wasn’t just some piece of discarded litter, I made my way closer to it, got out my binoculars and voila! Three green leaves, three white flowers. It felt like a bit of a miracle that I had found the one and only surviving trillium in this part of the forest — and my day was made.

But it got better. As I got closer, I saw that there were a handful of other trilliums, the last floral survivors. Just a handful, mind you. There were no carpets of white, like you often see in photos of Algonquin Park in springtime.

Never having taken a photo of a trillium before, I was thrilled that my persistence paid off. I feel I was totally meant to find and shoot this lovely flower — a flower that could only be described as perfection in white — and share it with everyone.

As Neil Pasricha would say, awesome.

© BCP 2010

Update on the Ashbridge’s Bay swans, Penny and Tycho

Tycho comes by at sunset to say hello. © BCP 2010

As I mentioned in an earlier post, our much-loved local swan pair, Penny and Tycho, have set up housekeeping this spring in a new location, moving their nest from the little point across from the boardwalk where Ashbridge’s Bay Yacht Club has its picnic tables to a spot in the Coatsworth Cut.

The two locations couldn’t be more different.

Their old nest was is a high-traffic area. All the boats coming in and out via the inner bay (everything from police boats to giant yachts to little runabouts) passed by their highly visible nest. Penny and Tycho built their nest on this slight promontory (and guarded by a handful of black-crowned night herons) for at least the past seven years. Before that, I don’t know. If someone has any knowledge of where the Ashbridge’s Bay swans were living prior to 2004, I’d love to hear about it.

Now, though, P and T’s nest is impossible to see, hidden as it is in the Coatsworth Cut. It could be safer for them and their cygnets here, however, as there is no access to their new home by land — for people, that is. This might stop predation by big off-leash dogs, but won’t stop many other predators from claiming victims.

It will be interesting to see how many cygnets are born this spring, and how many of them survive until the end of the summer compared to previous seasons.  For at least the past three years, there have been eight cygnets born, with three surviving until the fall.

With eggs in their nest, we’re not seeing P and T out cruising the bay together like we do other times of the year. Makes sense — one of them is always on their nest.

A couple of evenings ago I was down at the beach at sunset, wondering if I would see either of our swans. Guess it was Penny’s turn doing the parental bit, as it was Tycho who glided by to say hello. We had a little visit, then he sailed off back across the bay. Maybe he was heading home for the night.

© BCP 2010

Ah spring, when tamaracks produce tiny — pineapples?

New cones of the tamarack tree, (Larix laricina), at Ashbridge’s Bay Park in mid-April. © BCP 2010

Tamaracks, one of our land’s most beautiful native trees, are really very special creatures. They’re deciduous conifers.

Huh? Didn’t we learn in grade school that there were two kinds of trees — deciduous ones like oak, maple and birch, and evergreens like pine, spruce and fir? The first category, of course, are known for losing their leaves every fall after the glorious display of colour they put on. The second hang on to their leaves — needles, actually — all year round. In fact, we mostly think of conifers, the trees that bear cones, as being one and the same as evergreens.

That’s usually tree, but not always. For the trees we call tamaracks (Larix laricina) are members of the larch family that bear cones, yet are deciduous.

After the needles turn a glowing amber in the fall, they all fall relatively quickly in a golden shower.

In spring, tamaracks burst forth with hundreds, thousands, of tiny new cones that look for all the world like . . . lime green pineapples! (See above photo if you doubt this description). After a few weeks, these tiny fruiting bodies turn fuschia, and eventually grow into structures that are more readily identifiable as cones.

For me, the limey intensity of new tamarack cones is one of the surest, most beautiful markers of spring. And we’re blessed to have dozens of these beautiful-in-all-seasons trees at our local park.

© BCP 2010

Tree swallows at Col. Sam Smith Park

A tree swallow stares me down last weekend at Col. Sam Smith Park along the western waterfront. © BCP 2010

How delightful that the tree swallows (Tachycineta bicolor) at Col. Sam Smith Park don’t seem to mind posing for the camera. Maybe it’s just because they are used to all the foot traffic along the paths by the water, and the constant tramp tramp of birders out with their Zeiss and Swarovski binoculars, and the shooters out with their ultra-long lenses.

Whatever the explanation, I was pleased that this bright bird, (a male if I’m reading my bird guides correctly — if I’m wrong, please let me know!) stared me down, just daring me to take his picture up close. He had definite business in this nesting box, though, and eventually disappeared into it. Not sure if he and his partner would still be construcing a nest inside it, or if this pair’s eggs had already been laid.

Hope to make a return trip to this western waterfront park soon to get an update on all its nesting birds.

So much to see in spring time! So little time to take it all in. . .

© BCP 2010

Wild apple blossoms out at the beach

A wild apple tree (Malus domestica) explodes into bloom at Ashbridge’s Bay, April 20, 2010. © BCP 2010

The days keep warming up and the joys of spring keep unfolding. It’s as perfect (and how wonderful that it’s so early) a spring as I’ve ever witnessed.

Today I’m posting several shots of one lone wild apple tree (Malus domestica??) that has its moment of supreme glory for a few days every spring. (At least I think it’s a wild apple. Certainly, to me, the blossoms seem to match those I see in guidebooks and online. But — please! — if anyone knows differently please let me know.)  Aside from the few days in spring when this tree proclaims its pulchritude, most of the time any passerby would likely not even see it, hidden as it is near a copse of sea buckthorn near the little arc of gravel and rocks at Ashbridge’s Bay Park that I call Dog Beach (for obvious reasons).

Close-up of apple blossoms at the beach. © BCP 2010

Today columnist Joe Fiorito writes in the Toronto Star about the Japanese cherry blossoms now adorning High Park. (He has lovely words to say about the magic of these blossoms, and some not so lovely words about our city officials. Read it by clicking here.) After reading his column, I wondered if perhaps I had misidentified the blossoms above. Perhaps they might be cherry blossoms, not apple blossoms? I checked further (thank you Google images), and have gone back to  my original ID. (Help welcomed — see above.)

Whatever they are, I think they are stunningly beautiful. And as Fiorito notes, blossom time is “achingly brief.” Time to get out to see them now.

I’m putting up a few other views of them (all the same tree) just because I think they are so special.

Apple blossoms at Dog Beach at Ashbridge’s Bay, April 20, 2010. © BCP 2010

© BCP 2010

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